


Breathe In, Close Your Eyes, and Breathe Out

by itisunreal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Coulson being a dork, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Inhuman May, Mid-Season 2/End Season 3, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, ignoring canon like the good lord intended, not medically acturate, or even close to it, you all know how season 3 ends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisunreal/pseuds/itisunreal
Summary: There's flashes. Bursts of light between the darkness. The Diviner opened. Mist. And fear. And Skye wrapped in a husk. The same creeping up her. Trip. Blackness. Pins and needles along her skin. A raw twinges. Shocked nerves. And then…nothing. There’s a blank space where those memories should be. There’s a blank space where a lot of that night should be, and that lack sends a sputter down her spine.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about this stupid thing for like four years, and i still mostly don't know what it is. it follows the episodes, over time it might be less, but i don't know, not real great at planning or executing.  
> it’s a garbage pile, but it's my garbage pile.

Skye release Fitz from her strangle hold, reining herself in, and leans back on tingling legs, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeved hand. She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t be doing it. Shouldn’t consider it. It isn’t hers to tell, but it pinches tight in her chest, restricting her lungs, rocking what calm she manages to find in these small moments. she can’t keep it locked there, it’ll eat through her. “She was there.”

It’s messed up. It’s all so messed up. She hadn’t wanted any of this, doesn’t want the consequences now thrust upon her. She… She shouldn’t have chased after Raina, should’ve let her wander into the cave alone. It would’ve been better that way. Everything would be better if she’d just stayed put like she’d been told. Hindsight always feels so clear, concise.

Brows furrowed, Fitz shifts off his feet, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “What'd you mean?”

Swallowing, Skye chews her lip. This isn’t hers. She shouldn’t mention it, but it has to come off her shoulders before it crushes her with everything else. Besides, it’ll be fine. Fitz can keep a secret. Has before. What’s one more?

“May…was with me. Slipped in after Trip.” She sighs the name, a treasure caught in her throat. This is her fault after all. Everything that happened down there. No wonder her shoulders can’t bear the weight.

Eyes downcast, she fiddles with her hands, fingers bending to uncomfortable angles before she drops them. Picking at broken glass, she lets the pinpricks focus her.   
This isn’t hers.

Fitz shakes his head, and scoots closer, voice low when he speaks. “That doesn’t make sense, Skye. S-s-she was well clear of the inner temple when we-uh-when we found her.”  
She shakes her head. “I know. I know that, and that this seems crazier than this situation already is, but she was there. I-I was being swallowed by this-this crust, but I could see them, and they…god, Fitz, they looked terrified.” Her voice cracks, and the room rattles around them again.

Reaching with a calming hand, Fitz keeps this grip tight, an anchor in the storm. Waits patiently for the room the settle, for her to steady. She’ll continue in her own time, she always does. Pushing won’t help in this state.

For as long as she lives, she never wants to see that expression cross her SO’s face again. Just remembering the devastation makes her shiver. And now she wants to reel her words back in. This isn’t hers to tell. She can already imagine being on the other side as May blanks out when she learns of Skye’s betrayal, becomes the robot she accused her of being so long ago. Learns that Skye has the ability, willingness, to break something to hard earned, sacred. This breach of trust may never be repaired, and it makes her a little nauseous that she’s willing to give it up, that everything she’s worked so hard for is slipping free so easily. But it’ll be better this way.

“I-I’ve never seen either of them look like that, and I could hear her calling. Then the pieces started falling away, but it was quiet, and she was there—”

Fitz readjusts his grip as her face crumples, pulling her into him.

“But she was stone, and Trip, he was—he was…he just crumbled to nothing.”

Dust floats down from the ceiling, control abandoning her once more. He feels her stiffen, muscles solid as she holds her breath. Notices how the tremors that rack through her tremble around them in time.

“Skye, you’ve got to breathe.”

Nodding, she sucks in a breath, and holds it, counting. One, two, three… She pulls her sleeve over her hand, wiping again at her perpetually wet eyes. She means to push the air out slowly, but it falls from her in broken streams. …nine, ten. Sniffling, she fidgets. Wants to keep still, but can’t. “Sorry.”

“S’fine. No harm, no foul.”

The smile he gives is bolstering, somewhat, and she presses to the end. Better to get it all out now that she’s started. It isn’t hers, but she can’t carry it alone. Fitz will help, he already is. “The room shook, and she cracked. I thought… Then she was gone. They both were. I thought—I thought she was gone like Trip.”

Her room quiets as she slumps further into Fitz. Curling in on herself, she swallows thickly. “I don’t remember much after that. I didn’t—I didn’t know she was alive until we were almost back to the plane. I thought I was going to tell Coulson—”

He rubs his hand up and down her arm, a comfort for himself if not her. “But you didn’t, she’s fine,” he offers, hoping the hiccuping breath isn’t a sign of more tears to come. “We found her just outside temple. Seemed normal e—uh—enough. Little knocked about, half out of it, but normal. Hasn’t mentioned anything to you?”

Skye sniffs again, the pressure in her head, behind her eyes, sharpening for a moment. Drying her cheeks a final time, she straightens, tucking her hand in her lap. “Nothing. Not even when she stopped by. She was with me though. I’m not making this up.”

Fitz leans forward, elbows digging into his knees. “I believe you. I—”

“Skye…”

Eyes slipping closed, she fights to keep her breath even, feels Fitz tense beside her. This can’t be happening. It isn’t happening. Please, god, let her be hallucinating, dreaming, dead would even be preferable at this point. This isn’t hers to tell. Not to anyone, but definitely not him. Especially him. He isn’t supposed to hear this from her, be here.

She braces as Coulson moves in, toward them, leeching from the shadows into the faint flickering light. “How much did you hear?”

Lowering himself to the floor, he sits across from them, waiting. “Enough. Start from the beginning.”

* * *

“You should have told me.” She raises a brow without a word, and he takes the expression as confusion continuing, pen clamped between his fingers. “The temple. I ordered you back to the plane, told you I’d go after Skye. You ignored that order. And you where in there when everything happened.”

He takes it as confusion, but it isn’t. She knows exactly what she's done to cause this, why he's agitated, no explanations needed. There’s nothing for it though, what’s done is done, and he never pulled her under with his anger alone. She’s withstood the barrage intact before, through perceived betrayals and misguided lies. A few omissions won’t scar her now.

In the moment the decision was justified, convinced she could handle the fallout on her own. In the present, it's less certain. Much less apparent than Skye's. She's no more knowledgeable about it than the day it happened. Vague tingles race along her skin, a persist itch. She can admit now anxiety curdles in her, day and night, a swelling apprehension of what must eventually come out. But it’s purely luck Skye hadn’t said anything before now. She can concede and move on or minimize if she can.

Without the ability to confess out loud, there's only one option. 

“There’s nothing to tell. I was checked out like everyone else down there, and I’m fine.” He can be frustrated about it all he wants, but his emotions have never had a bearing on how she conducts herself, the action, decisions she makes. His resurrection proof enough of that. 

“What happened then? You weren’t with Skye when we found you, but she swears you were there. She said you turned to stone. How do you explain that?”

Apologize.

Elude.

Reason.

Lie.

Skye told him everything.

That thriving tension within her, constricting. Skin stinging. She wants to rub the sensation away, but holds still. They’ve been together far too long for this to be where he starts second guessing her… Starts second guessing her again. Even if she's questioning herself. In the end, she doesn’t lie or apologize, only neglects the bits of information she does have.

Thin lipped, and jaw set, her hands find each other behind her back as she pulls herself to her full height. Eyes trained on him, the approach he’s taken is unappreciated and callous. There are better ways to go about this, better ways to talk this out. She isn’t some new recruit that can easily be scared into submission. She’s his second, and deserves the benefits that come with that. “I can’t.”

Loosening the death grip on his pen, he sets it aside. That isn’t a tone she usually reserves for him. He’s needled some kind of nerve, provoked a reaction, hopefully it provides. Shuffling his papers, and sets his attention solely on her. He’ll never make to the center of this tangled web being woven around him if it does. “Why would she say that? Why would she even think it?”

“I don’t know,” she bites out, tensing. “It was a stressful situation—”

A raised hand stops the train before it even fully sets in motion. “I know where you’re going with this, but she’s adamant. Something happened down there. You lost time. You both did.” His scrutiny finally swings from her after long moments and a staring contest neither will win. “Neither of you can give a clear account of what happened. I want you checked out again. Report to Simmons immediately.”

“Phil—” Demeanor softening, she steps forward, attempts to formulate a clearer reasoning for keeping quiet. Or, at least, a convincing enough one why more tests are unnecessary. Skye’s had been fine after all, and they’d been in there together.

“You’re lucky you’re not going into quarantine until your results are back, which is where you should have been. You put the whole base at risk. Go. We’ll continue this later.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s stiff, terse, and she stalks from the room before he can reprimand her further.

She could take her sweet time getting to the labs. It’d irritate him to no end if she compounded her insubordination with just a slight bit more. But she isn’t in the mood for such pettiness, especially when he has every right to be upset. She had endangered them just so she wasn’t confined, imprisoned in a fishbowl. It was selfish, and shortsighted, and stupid. She knows better.

Plus, it wouldn’t be worth the chastising it would bring. She doesn’t need him looking any harder than he already is.

The hall is clear for the most part, and when it isn’t, junior agents scurry out of her way. Maybe they feel it in the atmosphere. She isn’t any happier with this situation than he is, and it scatters from her, warding others off.

She would’ve told him, if he could’ve just trusted her. She hasn’t given him a reason not to. She tells herself that, has been since the change, but she’s not entirely sure that’s true. It’s disorienting.

The lab is eerily empty given the time of day like the halls. But Simmons is there, so no waiting or searching.

Jemma smiles, looking up from her work. “Hello, Agent May. Coulson thought you’d take longer.”

Of course he did. Doubt after doubt after doubt…

Simmons usual cheeriness doesn’t spread, can’t air out the tension she’s brought with her. May sits on a stool at the work station across from her.

“So, what can I do for you?”

She works to keep the turmoil of leaking. “He didn’t tell you?” Why would he…

“Only that you were coming.”

The corner of her mouth pulls down before self correcting. “Full work up.”

Curiosity tilts her head as she gently abandons her equipment, and turns, interest on full blast. “May I ask why? You were evaluated after the temple fiasco, and had a full physical shortly before that.” The tightness around May’s mouth sets to stone, and Simmons swallows, trying something simpler. “What am I looking for?”

“Abnormalities.”

"Why would I...” Her brows pinch, eyes narrowing in thought. “You weren’t just down there."

Bingo. Smart girl.

"You were in the temple when Raina changed like Skye was. Do you remember anything?” she asks, gathering what supplies she’ll need.

"No." May’s tone gives the illusion of patience, but the statuesque manner she holds herself in tells a different story.

It flies right over Jemma's head as she nods, setting down a handful of vials. “That’s a shame, I was hoping for a more complete picture of what happened. Jacket, please.”

Slipping the article off, May lays it across her lap, and picks an arm, unmoving as the band is tightened around her bicep.

Taking an alcohol wipe, Jemma swabs the crook of May’s elbow then pauses allowing it to dry, switching into question mode again. Just can’t help herself, endlessly curious and wondering. “How did you escape? We had to dig our way to Skye.”

There's flashes. Bursts of light between the darkness. The Diviner opened. Mist. And fear. And Skye wrapped in a husk. The same creeping up her. Trip. Blackness. Pins and needles along her skin. Raw twinges. Shocked nerves. And then…nothing. There’s a blank space where those remaining memories should be. There’s a blank space where a lot of that night should be, and that lack sends a sputter down her spine. Not knowing is dangerous. At least risky, and at worst deadly. Still she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Jemma nods again, reflective as she smoothly pushes the needle in and joins the first of the vials. She doesn’t question further.

But the flashes don't stop surging. Shimmers and flickers. Churning and mixing until it's the only thing she can see behind her eyelids. Dread and devastation; cracked stone and dust. Realizing she couldn't help or be helped. Just like before.

The rubber stopper squeaks as Jemma releases the last vial, snapping May back into her body, then sets it aside. Placing a cotton ball overtop the needle, it's out just as easily as it went in. Adds light pressure. “Hold that please.” Reaching over, she grabs a piece of tape, and replaces May’s finger with it. “These will be back in a few days.”

May gives a hum in conformation, slipping her jacket back on. There’s a moment, a second of doubt where she considers asking for some kind of certainty. That her results will be as benign as Skye’s. That Coulson’s blown this out of proportion. That she's still the person she was before going down there.

The idea flees the next instant. And she follows it right out the door.

Vials in hand, they look as ordinary as they possibly could, but that’s never meant anything in her line of work. Simmons’ sure it’s fine though. As positive as she can be without having conducted the tests yet. There’d been no discrepancies between Skye’s newest test results and her last ones. Chances seem high it’s an overreaction on Coulson’s part. Because she’d been down there, because Skye had been, because he’d been panicky and anxious when the world began shaking, and worsened when they’d stopped. He's always a little touchy about those two.

Her rambling thoughts are sidetracked by a spot of color. A dot of red on the inside of her elbow, like a pinprick. Curious. Her eyebrows crease as she wipes it away with the pad of her thumb, setting to her new task.

* * *

“Not bad,” May huffs, sitting herself up. This is as good a way as any to distract herself after the mess the last several days have been. Every conversation between Coulson and her ends back where they started. With accusations she has no defense against. She doesn’t blame Skye for the things she said, or the things she left out. Because it's clear she only mentioned May's part in the temple.

Shaking her head, she refocuses, not the time. This is specifically for not thinking. “But once I’m pinned, you should try for a finishing blow.”

Bracing on her knees, Skye pants. They’ve been at it for hours. “You want full ‘Mortal Kombat’?”

May stands. “I want you to stop holding back, Skye.” She means it. Odds are still in her favor though, despite what Skye's thinking.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Just as quickly as the statement's out, Skye amends with a roll of her eyes as the incredulous look she receives. “I didn’t want to try to hurt you. I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of—I don’t know.”

Tilting her head, May keeps her gaze steady. She understands that frustration, that feeling of being out of order even when others insist you aren’t. She also knows holding it in, back, will only quicken the destructiveness with which it operates. “Look, we lost Trip, and it hurts like hell, but you can’t shut those feelings out, can’t sustain that.”

Skye throws her hands out, wide, swinging gestures. “Well, what are my options? Just lose it, right here?”

“We’ve talked about this. Control. Embrace your emotions, your nerves. Use them, on your terms.” 

“I don’t know.” Skye sighs, avoiding her mentor’s eyes as she attempts to reel herself back in. “What I’m feeling is pretty…dark. I’m afraid I’m gonna go postal, and tear your head off.”

There's a hint of a smirk from May, and Skye almost returns the expression, feels the tension ease from her shoulders. She’d been nervous restarting training because of her inability to control this power she found herself with. But, also, because she’s a rat. Because May must know it was her that spilled the beans, and how was she supposed to face her after that.

“Go for it. You won’t, I promise.”

Because she knows, and is still acting like nothing happened. Like Skye hadn’t outed only part of their shared secret. Taken that crumb of control after everything they’d gone through and lost it.

“Maybe you should both take a break.” Fitz leans against a column, a restlessness radiating from him. Inspecting, analyzing, scrutinizing every words, every movement, every breath. Searching for anything abnormal, extraordinary, anything he’ll be required to bury, disguise.

“Training is not a group activity.”

May faces him, and he nods, straightening up, reaching for an excuse, a suitable reason for the interruption, for an escape. “Yeah, I just came down to…have—uh, see what…it’s about…” Oh, that—that is not what he should have said.

It coaxes another half smile from her though as she crosses her arms, hip jetting out as she shifts her weight. “I’ll tell you what, Fitz, come back in an hour. I’d be happy to show you what it’s all about.”

“We’re fine, Fitz. Really,” Skye maintains, cutting in, brows high in emphasis.

Putting up no fight, he nods again, keeping his eyes down while backing away.

Form retreating, Skye can’t help but snicker at the mental image. “It would be pretty funny to see you and Fitz go at it—” Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she instinctively throws her arms up, blocking her face. “Okay. Guess we’re back on.”

“And not holding back.”

They circle one another. Taking the lead, Skye throws the first punch. And misses, May sidestepping the swift move. She’s going to have to apologize, what she’d done wasn’t fair. Coulson hadn’t heard much, but when she’d retold an edited version, he knew something was missing. And better the person who knew how to handle him. Therefore, she’d confess her part in their estrangement, for throwing her to the wolves while preserving her own secret, kept safely hidden behind a mask of grief.

Not that she thinks Coulson is anything close to a firing squad, especially with May involved, but that doesn’t make her actions right. Or, make her feel any better about doing it.

Ass meeting mat yanks her back, refocusing her. She blinks owlishly at May’s rolling eyes. 

“Focus, Skye.”

Rubbing at her hip, she pushes herself up, re-centers, and begins again. Circling, she attacks and defends when necessary. There'll be no more landing on her ass today, but May isn’t leaving her any room to breathe. Attack after attack until she's backed to the edge of the mat.

Dodging and weaving, she avoids hits when she can, absorbs others when she can’t, until she finds an opening. Skye ducks the swing aimed for her head, grabs May’s outstretched arm before she's out of reach again. With a firm grip, she leverages May over her shoulder. back smacking loudly as she lands. Priming for the final strike, Skye gasps, chest vacant. Lungs empty.

Slowing, a groan tugs its way up her throat as she leans over, holds herself up on shaking knees. And tries to quietly ease the subsequent sound out. 

May’s flat out, eyes squeezed shut. Makes no move to right herself.

And for a few blissful moments everything’s quiet. Still. Sedate. Everything Skye’s been pursuing in the passing days, the kind of peace she's longed for… Until the ringing in her ears starts, the burning in her lungs. Gulping in air, she coughs once, twice… Through haggard breaths, she can just make out a reprimand.

“What did I say about holding back?” May chides, climbing to her feet once more, unwrapping, gaze steadfast.

Uncurling, Skye shrugs, squinting momentarily. Maybe she pulled something, that seems as likely as anything else. But then again, maybe she didn’t. Whatever just happened, May isn’t acknowledging it or hadn’t felt it or…or—whatever. If anything it’s worth a mention.

“Are we done?”

A single nod sends Skye on her way, wandering down hall after hall on the hunt for wherever Fitz is hiding. Her search is fruitless, and wasted as Fitz finds her instead. 

Sneaking from a disused room, he captures her by the elbow, pulling her in. “What’s the matter? What ha-happened?”

“Nothing.” It's all the reassurance she can offer, everything’s as fine as can be with what's happened. "Nothing. I'm fine. I just got done—"

Eyes widening for an entirely different reason, he steps back, creates space. "She d-d-doesn't want to see me…does she?"

Skye snorts loudly, a guffaw falling from her. It'd certainly be entertaining, but Fitz wouldn't make it off the mat. "No. Not that she said, at least. I still think it'd be funny though."

He sags a little in relief. "You would. What do you need?"

Right, back to business. Forehead creasing in concentration, her eyes shift back and forth, the memory running through. Then she huffs. "I don't know. I-we were training, and I... I flipped her, and she hit the mat, but I couldn't breathe. Like the wind had been knocked from me..." She trails off, waiting for some kind of response that proves she's not crazy instead of the preoccupied nod that's occurring. Sighing, her hands fall limply at her sides. "I don't know," she repeats. "We don't know anything. I thought it might be helpful."

"No, yeah, it is," Fitz affirms, uncrossing his arms. "It is. Every bit of data gets us closer to the truth."

* * *

"These are the last of the Stark Copper Jackets."

Coulson notes it on his checklist, then heads for a trunk. "I'll make sure Hill puts them on the list. Anything else?"

Mack exhales, only slightly visibly irritated at having his process interrupted. "Sir, I can handle inventory myself. And I hope this isn't about my reaction after—"

Opening the trunk, he shuffles the contents around, not really looking for anything, just something to keep busy. Then looks over his shoulder. "No, I told you, we're fine. After Puerto Rico, we need to take stock. What happened out there was—"

Mack stills, freezing solid as he cuts through that sentence. "Yeah, I don't like thinking about that."

Dropping the lid, Coulson faces him. "I don't blame you." He tries not to reflect on certain aspects much either. "But I've been thinking about it, and I realized I've been wasting your talents."

"Sir?"

"Look, I know you love it under the hood of a car, but I could really use you out there in the field. You're a force to be reckoned with. Believe me."

Mack gently shakes his head. "Okay, but violence isn't really my thing. You know, that alien crap made me into something I'm not."

He's been there, understands a compulsion foreign to him worming and digging and forcing, feeling like you're being pushed out of your own head. But... "I know. But have you seen yourself? You're a little bit of a beast all the time."

Their conversation is held up by footsteps on the cargo door, and Mack peering over his shoulder. No need for introductions though, it's a pattern he's beyond familiar with. And she just keeps trying even if he needs time. Wants it. Thinking something could've happened—can happen still, sends a chill down his spine. He'd still be completely in the dark if not for Skye, and she'd been just as content to continue the farce.

He'll give her props for perseverance, dedication, not that he expects anything less.

"A blue-dot operative in Portugal phoned in. You should hear what he has to say."

Mood turning, Coulson knows his face is indifferent when he looks at her, but hers is also. Both shielding themselves from the other. And even wanting time, he's no better at staying away. Taking her in with an appraising eye, she's in workout gear, sweat still peppering her brow. It's the obvious place for her to be. Releasing frustration, but easily found. 

He looks back to Mack. "Looks like you're starting now."

"Oh, you'll want everyone on the Bus for this."

The amusement there doesn't go unnoticed, but he has no response for it either. "Gather them."

The order's directed at Mack, and it's hard to imagine such a mundane thing can sting so bitterly. That he won't even trust her with such a simple task says enough about where they stand.

“Can we talk?” she asks as they're pushed into an uncomfortable silence. The air aboard the Bus thick, a wall between them, unbreakable and broadening.

Annoyed, he packs away the remaining inventory more forcefully than needed. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.” She doesn't know how many times and ways she can explain it.

“You sure as hell didn’t tell the truth.”

“Phil—”

“You were down there. In that cave when everything happened. How am I supposed to trust you’ll tell me what I need to know without omitting facts?” Accusatory and abrasive, he spare only cursory glances as he rolls his sleeves down, rebuttoning the cuffs.

“It wasn’t like that—”

He slips his jacket on, clipping their connection, stalling the end of her sentence. “Save it for later, we’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, i hate it.
> 
> if you think something should be tagged that isn't let me know over on tumblr. you can find me at philipthegirlnickel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one said I could write coherently, that will become more obvious the further along we get. I can't keep it straight in my brain.

Coulson leads the way through the station, always two steps ahead. And whether he thinks it’s all his irritable disposition or not, she willingly backs off. Trying to reason with him like this is useless, and she’s put in all the leg work so far. Best to leave him to his own devices, he’ll come around. Eventually. If they both stop pushing...

He stops at the main desk, focus solely on the guard. “Thank you for watching her.”

The officer looks up from his work with a shrug. “I hear from the Prime Minister’s office, I’m told to hold this crazy lady here for you, I hold this crazy lady.”

Leaning against the desk, he schools his features. Sif sits calmly above them on the second floor, attention captured by the far wall. And from what he'd heard his operative, she'd been less than amenable. So he expected something much more confrontational than...this. "How did you subdue her and get her to wait?”

“No subduing. She stayed willingly once I told her I’d found ‘Kava’ and he was on his way to meet her.”

Much to his chagrin, Coulson shakes his head. “Oh, but I’m not Kava.”

“I’m glad I’m not the one who has to tell her that.” The officer smiles, entertained by the prospect of this going slightly sideways. “Pick up her sword from booking before you go.” Grin widening before leaving them.

Well, this is gonna be fun. Hopefully, she’s truly in an agreeable mood because if not this isn’t going to be great for him. Though optimistically survivable.

May lags behind again on their way up the stairs, giving him point. Then leaving him altogether when her cell rings at the top. Not that he can't handle this meeting on his own. Just when she's away, he's antsy.

Focus.

“Sif.” It gets her attention despite uncertainty clouding her features.

“Are you Kava?”

If nothing else, that confirms something’s genuinely wrong here. “No, I’m Phil Coulson. With Shield.”

“Shield?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

Shoulders slumping, she doesn’t make a move. Of any kind. “So you are not Kava.”

“No,” Coulson repeats taking a seat, dropping his things to his side. “But I am a friend.”

She studies him critically, gaze darting back and forth over his face before ceasing altogether, evaluation complete. “I have no memories of you.” Tone drifting.

This situation grows more intriguing by the minute, and he's already had his fair share of curiosities. Could use a break after the last weeks.

“You say we are friends?”

If he's lucky, she’d take his word for it, but luck and Asgardians don’t exactly mix where he’s concerned. Instead, he’ll offer proof, and hope from there. 

Grabbing the tablet from beside him, he wakes it, and scrolls for the evidence he knows is there. Finding the pictures from their previous team-up, he holds it up. “’Son of Coul?’ See? We’ve worked together before.”

Sif stares at the photo, absorbs it, but there’s no recognition. “I apologize. I do not remember.”

“So, you have absolutely have no memory of who you are?”

She shakes her head, the lost look never fading. “I know I am from Asgard. But I do not remember my home there. You tell me my name is Lady Sif, but…why I left Asgard, what brought me here to Midgard… Why I wear these hides instead of armor…a mystery.”

“One I’ll help you solve. I’m sure a clue will turn up somewhere.”

“Twitter. Skye found it.”

He doesn’t notice her until she’s a hair’s width away, tucking her phone in with one hand, reaching for the tablet with the other.

“Just a moment,” he directs at Sif, relinquishing the tech. May steps from them as she pulls up whatever Skye’s dug up. He follows—the first time in days he has—and when they stop a video is paused on the screen, waiting for his go ahead.

With a nod, she plays it. 

Sif appears on screen. The assailant an unknown male. 

Before there’s time to ask about the nameless man, their Sif shortens the distance between them considerably, edging still closer to gain a look, a sliver of information that might jump start her memory.

The tablet’s held out for her, and Sif’s hands come up, taking hold at the edges, and pulling it closer to her face for a second then lowers it. Features just as muddled as before. “That’s me. I don’t remember this.” She stares at the video again, seconds passing before a semi-impressed mouth shrug. “I’m a decent fighter.”

May nods, keeping herself rigid sandwiched between the two. “This guy can hold his own against you. Impressive.”

“Last time you were here, you came to collect a rouge Asgardian. That would explain his strength.” 

May’s eyes set on him before flicking back to the screen. “Regardless, she traveled across the universe to find him. He’s dangerous.”

The video continues, Sif slashing the front of the man, sending him to a knee. She moves to put an end to it, but he twists, hitting her with his weapon, and she drops. Righting himself, he stands, hoisting Sif over his head, and throwing her from the pier, into the ocean.

Coulson winces slightly. “Make that more than dangerous. We know you were after him, question is what’s he after?” With no answers forthcoming, he changes gears. “Let’s pack it up. Get back to the Bus, see if they’ve find anything else.”

-_-_-

May forgoes taking the passenger seat, let’s Sif claim the spot for her own. Seems the further outside his personal space, the better for the both of them. He’s gifted the separation he wants, and she receives a break from the constant attitude. Why she’s even there is a mystery. Anyone would have sufficed for such a retrieval. Instead it’s this, uncomfortable and contentious.

The whole ride is an awkward kind of one. He makes it awkward, the air cuttable. And though he’s back to overlooking her, she feels his eyes find her through the rear view. Which is irritating in and of itself considering the way he treats her when their attentions do meet.

Gratefully, the drive is short. And once parked on the cargo ramp, Simmons is guiding them to the briefing room. It leaves little time for surly comments.

“We found a couple of other videos of the fight, and we’ve been analyzing them frame by frame, which—” Simmons starts as they turn in.

May breaks away, off to the cockpit as Fitz interjects, “Which didn’t get us much of, um…”

Then she's beyond his sight. He's just as guilty for their lack of separation, but when she's too far from him, his chest constricts, lungs wringed of all air. Skye muttering about about stone and mist... Better to keep her close and sullen than not around at all.

Concentrate.

“Of anything new,” Jemma supplies.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Fitz nods, fast forwarding through the video until he pauses where Sif slashes the mystery man. “Um, until we get to…here.”

Sif’s eyes brighten at the image. “I do very much enjoy that part.”

His gaze jumps to her then back to the screen. “So, he—he’s—he’s wearing something—something mechanical, and she nailed it.”

“And there's more.” Jemma takes over, zooming in on the section where Sif sliced the man. Sparks and a blue liquid forever frozen mid-air.

“What is that?” Coulson squints as if it will help him better decipher the image.

“Blood?” Skye asks from the far end of the table. Sif this close is making her restless, millions of bees under her skin. Who the hell knows what Asgardians know or sense, and it adds to the buzz. 

Jemma shifts with a shrug. “Hope so. It could give us a lead. But there’s just no way to know from the video.”

“Once we land, Fitz, you go with Hunter and Mack, handle forensics.” Coulson looks to Skye, brows crinkling when he realizes she's sat so far from the rest of them. He hadn't noticed. “I need you and Bobbi to talk to witnesses in the area, see if we can track down where this guy went.”

Fitz starts off, slowing as he passes Skye. Waits for her to follow as Coulson and Sif head for the other door, though both groups stop as Jemma begins again.

“Sir, the science division has loaded the team with heavier suppression artillery.” 

It's shot off at a rapid pace before Coulson has time to turn or acknowledge her. With her next breath, he faces her, and she continues.

“After Raina’s vanishing act, we advice that when you find this…man, you contain him first, ask questions later. New Icers are still in development.”

“Very good. Keep me posted.”

Simmons makes for the same door Skye and Fitz are near. Skye stepping away as she gets closer, as Fitz stumbles over his thought before voicing it.

“New Icers?”

“Oh.” Jemma sighs, eyes wide but there's a strange hardness to them. A chilling notion from her. “The mechanical design is still top-notch, but we’re looking into a more concentrated dendrotoxin formula.”

“And wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

She smiles, and it shouldn't feel sinister, be sinister, but they balk at the expression anyway because it is and does, and this is Simmons for god's sake.

“But effective. Given these elevated threats, we can’t risk it not being.”

Skye and Fitz share a concerned look as they're finally left alone. It leaks from him in steady waves threatening to rock her off the edge.

"She doesn't mean that, it's just cause she doesn't know."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure you're right." Skeptically, she nods, doubt filling her. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"It's just some interviews. You've done it a million times. You could walk a witness through it in your sleep. No need to be nervous."

She can't tell if that helps or not.

* * *

The call from Skye sends them racing, leaving the rest of their team behind to finish gathering evidence. The ride silent, and anxious. And much too tense for May's nerves at the moment, pins beneath her skin. 

When they arrive the hospital, Bobbi’s dazed, and Skye's panicky, eyes wide as she totters. She isn’t much for information at that point. Or any of the points after. The only thing to do is usher them into the SUV, and take them home.

Back at the plane, Coulson escorts Bobbi to Simmons in the med bay while May leads the other two up and to the commons. 

“What happened in there?”

Part of Skye wants to say, just blurt it all out, and get it over with. All this hiding and dodging is stressful, and honestly, she’s beat. But even when she goes to say the words, they stick in her throat. Buries barbs in, won't let her speak. Sif stares, also waiting for answers, and she…she can’t. “I don’t—I don’t know. We were there, and he was there, then…I don’t know what happened.”

But May sees her, sees through her. Seems to whether or not she actually does. She has to know it's a lie. That Skye's lying, still lying… Footsteps sound up the hall, and then May yields, shrinks back and gives him the forefront.

“Simmons is tending to Bobbi. She’s gonna be okay. What can you tell us?”

Straight to the point. What can she possibly say without revealing herself? Crossings her arms, Skye leans back against one of the small tables, slouching under so many eyes. “The guy was blue, like ‘he just tested some Willy Wonka gum’ blue, and he needed nitrogen for whatever device turned his skin pink. Do you think he’s a Kree?”

Coulson turns on Sif. “You told me last year the Kree had not visited our realm.”

“If a Kree came to your world unannounced now, I would assume he’s up to no good.”

“He attacked Bobbi and Skye, so that’s a yes.”

Skye sinks further into her roost. “Yeah. The guy throws a mean punch.”

“Let’s assume you were here to stop him. We still don’t know his objective.”

Sif's gaze jumps to each of them, a thought passing over her. “No, but knowing he is Kree helps. ‘Kava,’ for example. I thought it was a name. ‘Tis a Kree word.”

“You also learn other species’ entire languages as a child?”

Sif, oblivious to the incredulous flair, continues on, “‘Kava’ means keys.”

“Keys?”

“A device used to unlock—”

"Yeah, I know keys." His tone skirting on the edge of insulted. "It’s something. Let’s look into it.”

Coulson opens a laptop as Sif turns to Skye, puts a hand on her shoulder. And she keeps herself from cringing away. “Skye… Thank you for engaging my enemy. You are quiet brave.”

There’s no response she can muster beside a weak nod. Then sees herself out as fast as she can without seeming suspicious, utterly unaware of the eyes following her.

The clacking of a keyboard tells her she’ll find him here. This is… She couldn’t - she can’t do this. Has to tell him she can’t. That their covert operation is done. All for the better, she's exhausted, and each added layer is another lie she must remember, maintain.

Grabbing Fitz by the arm, Skye pulls him from his station, and in between the rows of tech. “I can’t do this, Fitz. I can’t.”

He's unmoved by the admission, giving a meaningless reassurance. “Yes, you can.”

“No, the whole room was shaking. The gun exploded in my hands. I can’t.”

That is new information. Biting at his thumb, his thoughts race, searching for way to cover what now need burying. But that will have to take a seat on the back-burner. First, he needs to convince her to hold off.

“I thought that I could handle it, but I can’t. It’s too much. I-I think we've got to tell Coulson what’s happening.” That buzzing grows sharper, harsher against her skin.

“Hang on. Wait, all right.” Rubbing at his face, he mulls their options over. Of which there are not many. “Just wait until I’ve or…analyzed—”

Skye vehemently shakes her head. Growing slightly frantic. “I can’t control it when I get upset or nervous, Fitz. And that’s all the time.”

“I’m running that diagnostic on your blood samples right now.”

Gulping in a calming breath, she exhales slowly, and centers, mind switching gears. This is good. This segue. This segue she’ll force into existence. Not about her. Nerves quieting, the slight vibration of the floor recedes. Make it not about herself. It’s easier to control herself when her mind's preoccupied with something other than her own predicament. “What about May’s? You’re watching for it, right?”

She’s asked him a dozen times already, and again he nods just as he has every time before. “I am. Just have to beat Simmons to it. Piece of cake.”

“Good. Good.”

“But, hopefully, when yours is done, we’ll have a better idea about what’s going on, and a solution to…ah, one problem at least.”

“Right. There’s nothing you—” Halting mid-sentence, she straightens, alert, prey warned to a predator, and motions for Fitz’s silence.

Standing still for several moments, they listen to the progressive tinkering until Hunter pops around the corner, stopping short at the stony passage they make. “Sorry to interrupt…” He glances at each of them before ducking through. “Whatever this is. Just wanted to check out the new toys from sci-tech.”

Pulling the top case, he takes it to the workbench, and starts to pick through. From the corner of his eye, he watches Skye thumb behind her, slowly backing away.

“I’m…gonna - scour the web for ‘key’ references.”

She scurries around the corner, Fitz behind her as Hunter turns back to the new case with a shake of his head. “Yeah, you do that."

That was close. But she wants to be caught, doesn't she? Or at least confess. But the closer it comes to being out in the light, the harder she fights it. It's…confusing. 

She hears them before she even makes it back to where she’d left them. Coulson’s vacated his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. 

Coulson talks over his shoulder to Sif. “I’m saying I can’t find any particular keys that would be hugely important, not literal keys, not metaphorical keys, not as in ‘to the city.’ It doesn’t mean that I—”

May stands from the table Skye had occupied earlier, and interrupts. “Wait. Look at this.” She hands over the tablet when she's close enough. 

Glancing over the screen, he reads out loud. “Chaves. A city known for its sedimentary basins. I don’t—”

“Guess what chaves means in English.”

Skye enjoys the semi smug expression that crosses May's face. 

“Let me guess: keys.”

“There’s where the Kree was heading. That’s where I was chasing him. That was my mission,” Sif confirms.

“But Chaves, Portugal— We’ve seen that name before.”

The tenseness between them drips away a little as he looks to her for answers. Skye winces slightly knowing she's the one who placed the wedge there, hammered it in. 

“It was in Whitehall’s SSR file.”

That's enough to trigger the information he's looking for. “The site of his dig in 1945, where he first found the Obelisk. That’s where we have to go.” Handing the tablet back, he stands, jacket in one hand, ready to set off. 

Skye hangs back though, hands clasped tightly. “Director?" He turns back. All of them do. So many eyes. So much scrutiny. "I’d like to sit this one out, please.”

“You all right?”

She nods, squirming under the weight of their collective stare. “Yeah, just after my run-in with Blue Man Group, I still feel a little banged-up, and I’m just worried I’m not gonna be much help out there, so…”

May tilts her head, watching, and Skye keeps her gaze away. Sure if she looks too long, at any of them, her secret will be out.

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

And Coulson is just Coulson, taking whatever she says at face value before starting off again, Sif beside him. May stays thoroughly entrenched. In fact, she moves closer. “Is it really about being hurt, or is it about your nerves?”

The way she picks out their insecurities…it’s an incredible, eerie ability that brings Coulson back around. So, Skye lies. Again. Always more lies. “I promise, it’s just about the guy making me see cartoon birdies all around my head. That’s all.”

“Have Simmons give you one more check while we’re gone. Let’s make sure there’s nothing serious.”

Even her nod stutters. “O-okay.”

Coulson and Sif head off for real this time, but May stays firmly in place, inspecting, observing.

“Skye, are you sure it’s nothing?” There’s much more to this story than what's been said. The firing pin May'd found discarded on the hospital floor, sits heavy in her pocket. The rest of the gun unaccounted for.

Her eyes go wide as she nods, wringing her hands, the skin there red, raw. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, just banged-up.”

May almost looks like she'll dig in further, force her to out herself like Skye’d done to her just days ago. But May isn't like that, and Coulson unpleasantly barks for her.

“May, on me.”

She hesitates again before stepping back, torn between staying and going. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Promise. Go.”

“Later.” It sounds almost like a warning, a promise of what’s to come. Skye’s sure she isn’t meant to take it that way, but it twists in her gut nevertheless. As they head off, she ignores the rest of Coulson's unpleasantness. She just needs a moment to think, figure out what she's doing.

* * *

Fitz darts into the room, tablet pressed flat to his chest. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous, they’d been expecting these results, they’re as prepared as they can be, but his hands still tremble, voice jumpy when he finds her. “Skye.”

“Yeah?” Looking up, she turns around from her computer.

“Where is everyone?”

“Looking for the Kree. I…opted out for obvious reasons.”

“Can I talk to you for a, ah…uh, a minute?”

She looks around the empty room, the corners of her mouth tugging down. “Sure, what’s up?”

Grabbing her wrist, he ushers them into an alcove, and looks around again, keeping his voice low. “They’re back.”

For a moment, the room's empty of everything. Air. Life. Time. But this is good, yeah? Information she needs to know one way or another. 

Holding her breath a second longer, Skye lets it out, rubbing her hands together. She steps from the nook, pacing a couple feet away before turning back, and repeating. She’s been so focused on staying hidden, staying safe, she hasn’t given much thought about what it'll mean. What it does means if they’re the same, if they’re different, or how much she wished - hopes there's someone wading through this with her, no matter how selfish it makes her sound, just so she’s not alone.

“Well?” She doesn’t need the answer, she’d been there, she’d seen it happen. Knew May went into the mist and out of it in one piece, very much alive. To stone and back. But confirmation will bring a kind of peace in knowing for sure.

“They’re…they’re like yours. Not the same, but the changes are similar.”

Smiling, she catches herself, and frowns. It’s what she wanted, someone who’s like her, who’ll understand when no one else will. And that’s what she got, so why does she feel so gutted? Maybe because that isn’t the real reason, not completely anyway. Mostly, she just wanted someone to suffer with, someone to feel the fear and sickness that comes with this change. And it turns in her, souring her stomach.

She’s a bad person, a horrible friend. Good people don’t wish these kinds of things on their friends, on anyone. What is wrong with her?

Watching the brisk transition of emotion, Fitz speaks up, wanting to stop whatever is happening from spiraling into another full-blown base rattler. “Hey. Hey, d-don’t be like that. It isn’t your fault.”

“I ran after Raina.”

“She didn’t have to follow you. She, uh…ah, chose to go down into that temple knowing the risks. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Like that’s gonna happen. She shrugs off the suggestion. “Easier said than done. What am I supposed to do now?”

Fitz rocks forward on his feet, then doles out some actual applicable advice. “First, you should take a deep breath, then talk to her. See if she’ll open up, maybe.”

Skye rubs at her upper arms, glancing at him, a grimace in place. It's a solid idea, but... “Doubt it. Especially after what I did.”

“Worth a try, at least.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll try later, after Sif’s gone.” She will. She means it. She’ll try talking to her, even if it means starting and ending with that apology she owes. May deserves at least that much from her. But there are other things to focus on before then. “They’re gonna be back soon. What happens then?”

Tablet flush against his body again, Fitz heads her off, plan already in place and secured. “Jemma’s probably discovered the replacements by now. She’ll inform Coulson n-nothing’s out of the ordinary, and then we'll, uh, figure out how far you want to take this.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to May, and we’ll decide.” Readying to return to her self-appointed distraction, she has a thought. “What are we doing with those? Nobody can find them.”

They’d discussed retrieving the results, but never what they’d do once they had them. Coulson’s already suspicious of May’s involvement at the temple, constantly checking in with Jemma as to whether they were back or not. Almost like he's worried about what they’ll say.

They can hide them, but someone’s bound to stumble upon them eventually, not that she’s sure how long they’re planning on keeping this up, but it’d buy them some time.

Fitz waves her off though, completely unperturbed and collected. “Don’t worry about it. I know what to do.”

* * *

Sif paces the diameter of the circle they've formed. Their detainee entrusted to the far side. “Tell us how the truncheon works, Kree.”

“The Kree has a name. And that…" He uncrosses his arms, pointing to his lonely truncheon on this table. "…only works when in my hand.”

“Convenient,” May quips from the door she's guarding. Weapon at the ready, she keeps it posed should it become a necessity.

Vin-Tak points to the truncheon as Coulson picks it up, swirling his hand around mid-air. “It has a-a dial on the bottom…” He trails off as attention slips from him, and while they're distracted, he moves quickly. Flipping, the truncheon is swept into the air. 

Grabbing it, he lunges at the rushing Asgardian. With a crack of electricity, Sif jolts back as it meets her middle, sends her flying. Then, just as quickly, he’s dropping it. Guns on him from all side, he raises his hands up as Sif rises off the table she landed on.

“Oh.”

Vin-Tak swings around to look at the rest of them, amusement tinging his voice. “Sorry. The argument was going nowhere.”

Coulson seeks out Sif from around the Kree. “You back with us?”

She stands gaze unfocused as she evaluates. Then nods. “Yes. My memories have returned. I am Lady Sif of Asgard, friend of the Shield.” 

One step, two, then she’s rearing back, putting her weight behind a punch that sends the Kree to his knee. Coulson’s between them in an instant but keeps his gun on their newest guest, though Sif seems satisfied with the single hit.

Righting himself, Vin-tak rubs at his jaw. “Asgardian— Well, that explains a lot.”

“It is true. We do not trust Kree. That is why I am here. When Heimdall saw that one landed on your world, Odin charged me with retrieving him.”

“So you came to pick a fight.”

Sif bypasses the ludicrous allegation, she isn’t there for battle, only removal. “We know enough about Kree history to be concerned.”

“Well, if you know Kree history perhaps you’ve heard the tale of Terrigenesis.”

“Of course. Ancient Kree descending on planets, altering the inhabitants to fight their war.”

“And Earth was on of them.”

Skye stiffens, a memory bursting though the whirling disquiet building within her. “Blue angels who fell from the sky.” With her next blink, she catches a glimpse of May. If her head was clearer, she might have caught whatever the hell passed between them. But it’s a jumble. Lost in a spike of adrenaline.

Sif divides her attention, directing it toward the humans of the group. “Eons ago, the Kree waged a very long war. The casualties were high, and they needed more soldiers.”

Weapon down, May rolls her eyes at the wording. “You mean cannon fodder.”

Vin-Tak still attempts to defend their actions despite what he’s explaining. “We needed killers. One vicious faction among the Kree genetically modified other creatures’ DNA. Their modifications can be activated with Terrigen Crystals.

“We know these torturous experiments failed,” Sif adds. 

A reassurance not completely assuring given the direction of this conversation. 

He shakes his head. “Not on Earth. Here, we had to shut them down. This faction had built a city. They brought with them the Diviners, which hold the crystals. Their plans were discovered and thwarted by the betters of my kind, putting an end to that dark chapter of our past.”

“Until now,” Skye offers, the room continuing to narrow the more information is revealed. And she should stop talking, slip off while they’re distracted, but the more she hears, the less she can move.

“When I saw that an ancient signal had been triggered, I knew it had to be a Diviner. If the Kree Empire learned that these experiments were a success, they would be likely to renew them.”

“Why did you come here?” Coulson questions, slipping them into the right lane.

“These transformed beings are abominations. I knew that I had to find the remaining Diviners before another monstrosity occurred, and erase any knowledge of it.”

May shifts, drawing attention to herself, just as tense. “How many Diviners are supposed to be in that crate?”

“Enough to create an army.”

Coulson turns from them, speaking solely to Jemma through comms. "Simmons, tell me we got them." The pause is short, a moment at most, and he looks between them, brow furrowed, gears whirling.

"What'd she say?" 

May beats her to the punch, Skye isn't completely sure she would've been able to speak anyway, throat constricting thighter with every passing second.

"They're gone."

"How many are missing, Phil?" 

Jaw clenched tight, her teeth ache, and she's glad May has the wherewithal to keep asking. They'll still get the information they need even if thinking beyond the here and now is impossible for her. Gone? How can they all be gone? They'd had one. How many more were there?

It’s an answer that won’t come as the Kree makes his presence known again, snapping her from her trance. 

“My worst fear has come true. We must find the remaining Diviners, as well as anyone who’s transformed.”

Coulson nods along, still separating the two. “We drowned the temple where the Diviners were activated, so that’s a plus. And we do know the woman who was changed.”

Sif perks up from behind, steps forward. “So, someone was transformed. A Kree slave warrior created. Have you put it down?”

“No. She disappeared.”

Skye looks away as his eyes briefly land on her. She wants nothing to do with this. If she’d just been honest about all of this from the start, Coulson would have made sure she was never in this position. Never involved. Made sure neither of them where here with an alien bent on their destruction standing in their base mere feet away.

“What do you know of her?” Sif is just trying to help, but this is too close.

Coulson shrugs, and Skye forces herself to stay put, running now will only attract attention. “We don’t know much about Raina’s transformation. Skye and May witnessed it, but didn’t see much.”

"You were there?"

Skye blinks slowly. She hadn’t wanted this, this simmering anger in his voice. Simmons hasn’t told him yet, she couldn’t have or there wouldn’t still be that kind of bite in his tone, over her name. The brunt of it isn’t at Skye, but hurts all the same. She’d forced that rift between them, but she pushes that welling fear down because even with all of that, he won’t give them up. He won’t. She knows he won’t, but years worth of concealed anxiety still dig at her when no one’s looking. What if that anger gets the best of him?

She shakes herself. No, he isn’t like that, wouldn’t do that. This isn’t like before. Isn’t some foster family that’s grown tired of how she tests boundaries, that’s decided they’ve had enough. This is Coulson. He’d taken her in, made her part of a team, a family. Believed in her when no one else had. He wouldn’t do anything like that. He’d never let them take her, never allow _them_ to be stolen away.

“What did you see?” Sif doubles down when no answer comes forth.

May meets the question with a signature stony silence, and Skye wishes she could do the same, but words form and force themselves out in a stumbling heap before she can stop them. “I-I didn’t…I mean, n-nothing. I didn’t see anything.”

Vin-Tak steps in, bring their circle a little closer, tying the noose a little tighter. “The changes may not be on the surface, but buried inside.”

Her gaze jumps to May as a deep rumble begins, slowly magnifying. 

“You must understand, these creatures are weapons…abominations, even if they don’t know it.”

He states the accusation as if it's the most obvious, reasonable, thing in the world, like any of them would willingly walk to their death because they aren’t meant to be. But it isn't that simple, and maybe she shouldn't exist, but she does, and it gives her just as much right to be, and stay here as the any of them.

The anger at his arrogance stirs back a little courage, but it’s fleeting. Now isn’t the time for that argument, and Vin-Tak will likely never see it from her side. And there's always the chance that Sif won't, the team won't. Maybe even Coulson won't. But— They keep staring though, like she’ll provide them with all the answers they seek, and she shakes. Dust sprinkles down from the ceiling, utensils clattering; the power flickers with the continuous rolls.

“Son of Coul, what is this?”

Skye almost can’t take the look May gives her like she knows. Like she’s known the whole time, and has just been waiting for it to be voiced. Of course she knows, she'd seen exactly what Skye had. In and out, and holding back.

"Skye…you want to talk to us?"

Why ask such an obvious question? They both know the answer. But also, no. No, there isn’t anything she’d like to confess.

Coulson closes in, staring with those stupid, pleading eyes, concern and confusion all rolled into one. He doesn’t even suspect. How can he not even have an inkling at this point?

“Skye, what’s doing this?”

She doesn’t answer right away, there’s no easy way to say it, and she saw the way he reacted to May, his best friend. But the truth pushes past her lips, emptying into the room. “I am.” Her voice wobbles, and she tenses for any blow back, hunching in on herself.

And it’s swift. Sif lunges, and Skye pulls away, retreating closer to the exit. “Don’t!” She isn’t getting trapped here, and them grabbing for her will only make it worse.

The glass behind her shatters, and even as she covers her face, she knows May and Coulson are moving in, blocking access to her. 

_One breath…_

“Hand her over. I will take her to Asgard. It will be safer for all of you.”

_Two breaths…_

She knows Sif means well, but—

“The hell we will.”

_Three…_

God, she loves them so much for trying to save her, keep her. No one has ever wanted or fought as hard as they have to keep her. 

_Four..._

Vin-Tak pipes up again. Why can't he just shut the hell up? “The weapon has been activated. It needs to be eliminated before it hurts someone.”

_Five…_

“She’s not an ‘it,’ and Skye’s not a weapon," May bites it out through bared teeth. 

_Six…_

Coulson tries to mitigate. "She isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

_Seven…_

“Coulson, no one is saying Skye chose this, but she is dangerous.”

_Eight…_

“I don’t want to be this way,” she snaps. God, she's so tired of all of this already. She hadn’t asked for any of this, didn’t want it, and it isn’t fair for them to whisk her away because of it.

 _Nine…_

“Imagine what will happen if your powers grow. It may not stop at breaking glass. You could bring down buildings, tear continents apart…” Sif cautions, keeping her distance this time.

_Ten…_

“But I won’t.” Skye unfurls a little, she can do this. She has all the support she needs. “I can get a handle on it.”

Then Vin-Tak is there again and so loud, the buzz harshens when it's just beginning to settle. “That’s not what you were designed for. You were designed to destroy, which is why you must be put down.” 

“Yeah, well, that sounds an awful like killing to me.”

Spinning at the interruption, Skye sags a little in relief at the sight of Fitz. The tension doesn’t thin any, but he’s scrappy, a quick thinker, and there can never be too many players when facing down a god.

“This is not your concern.”

He never shuts up.

“Skye, let’s go.”

She flinches as May takes her arm, tugging her from the room leaving Coulson the only thing standing between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters, sweet progress.
> 
> if you think something should be tagged that isn't let me know over on tumblr. you can find me at philipthegirlnickel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another chapter after this, and then things are getting spotty. Figured out it's almost September, and for Christmas this year, everything's hand-made, and i haven't started my brother's stupid embroidered quilt. So, time to speed stitch.

May yanks her around the corner, and down into D-Vault. The increasing rumbles sends the lone chair in each cell skittering across the concrete floor. Lucky the beds are bolted down.

Breathing heavily as she’s flung toward the bed, Skye watches as May taps on the tablet, sealing them in, blocking her view of any proceedings that are inevitably bound to spill in. She’d lied, she can’t do this, any of it, but this is goodish. Better. It’s safe…er, at least. Coulson and the others will hold off Sif and the Kree, and she’ll maybe rein herself in, prove she can be left were she is. Attempt to, at least. Her chest tightens though, panicked breaths unfulfilling.

She tries to slow them as she shuffles around on the bed, presses her back to the wall. The cold seeps through her clothes, but isn't enough of a shock to snap her from it, focus her. Her body, a mind of its own, won’t listen to a single command. She can’t slow her breathing, can’t slow her thoughts. Can’t stop the shaking.

Coulson could change his mind. Decide she isn’t worth the trouble she’s brought. That they’ve run their course, and it’s over.

What if he let’s them take her? What if he let’s them take May?

What will happen to them? Would they be allowed to stay together? Or would they be forced apart so they're easier to manage? What if May doesn’t want to stay with her after all she's done?

_What if? What if? What if?_

The wall trembles behind her, the loose furniture clattering against the floor. Sif was right, she’ll tear this place apart whether she means to or not.

“Okay. Listen to me…just me. All right? We can do this. You can do this.”

“I can’t. I can’t make it stop. I don’t know how.”

May crawls on the bed next to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on a knee. “You’ll control your emotions, just like we practiced.”

Wrenching away, her sight grows hazier as she folds inward. “I can’t make it stop. Everyone’s at risk.”

May backs off the bed then, crouching instead. She levels herself, meeting Skye’s eyes. “Just focus, Skye. Look at me, you don’t have to be afraid. Just focus, it’ll stop.”

And her voice is soothing, comforting in a way most people have never tried to be with her, and Skye wants to fall into it, to believe what she's told for once. Let herself rest knowing everything will turn out in the end. It always has before. She swears the base quiets a little, following her lead, but the vault door slams against the wall, bouncing off; sound ricocheting like a shot. Startling. Poignant.

Skye’s head jerks to the side at the blow. Pushing herself further into the wall, quakes multiplying. Hands shaking. Knees tucked to her chest.

“Agent May, release the girl.”

The barrier crackles, warring under Sif’s manipulations. Skye sits taller, spooked, peering around May, watching the energized wall distort and bend. “She’s gonna get through.” Voice high and strained, it cracks.

Moving again, May blocks her view again, bring her attention back. “Ignore it. Remember, Skye, focus.”

But Skye shakes her head. “I can’t. She’s gonna get through. She’s gonna take us away. I don’t want to leave!”

Placing her hand on Skye’s knee, May hopes the contact will help to curb this spiral. She has to stay in the here and now, it’s the only way they’ll get through this. “That’s not going to happen. Nobody’s going to let that happen. You aren't going anywhere. You _are_ safe here.”

It's supportive and encouraging, and all of it goes straight through one ear, out the other, like May hasn’t said anything at all. Like she's speaking to someone else. She can't let it end like this, can't hold it in anymore. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I told Coulson, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t, I promise.”

“Skye—”

“No, no, Fitz, w-w-we stole your results to keep you safe. So no one would take you away… We were trying to keep us safe until we figured something out, but we—” Skye sucks in a breath, tears coming harder. She sounds jumbled to her own ears, isn’t sure May can make out a word of it through the sobbing, but she feels better with the confession. If they are lost or separated at least she got it out.

Reaching out, May ignores the flinch her movement causes, and smooths Skye’s hair back. “I know, Skye. I know. It's fine. I should have said something myself, but it’s all right. It’s not your fault. You just need to breathe.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry…”

Her mutterings are more broken wails than words, but there isn’t time to deal with Skye’s emotional state now. The barrier thrums in strain, and May stands, circling. Sif’s sword breaks through, plunging in, and the barrier snapping, barking as tendrils of energy arch out.

“Stay there.”

This is all her fault, and if she does nothing... Everyone’s in danger because of her. Because she can’t control herself. She can’t let that happen, won’t let them pay because she thought she could handle something so obviously out of her control.

Without a thought, Skye pushes off the wall, one foot on the ground, and reaches, snagging the gun from May’s holster before retreating back. It’ll be better this way. The quakes will stop, the fighting will end. No one will suffer because of her. It’ll be safer.

Turning the gun on herself, she breathes deep, a calm resolve flooding through her. It will be better this way. 

May wheels towards Skye at the tug at her hip. Back to the defecting barrier as it finally gives way, she searches for the missing metal. And Skye winces at the horrified expression that creeps over May’s face as she realizes what’s happening, what’s going to happen. Their eyes catch, and Skye hopes she can read the apology there. That she means it, sincerely. She’s sorry for all of this, and for what she’s about to do. Then she pulls the trigger.

Slumped over, the rumbling quiets, and her name leaves May in a breath that strips the air from her lungs. The rushing footsteps don’t penetrate the fog. Nothing does. Not her own ragged breaths. Not the distant yells of chaos around them, the itching under her skin. The world’s muted, compressed into a single, still, point in time as her eyes slip shut, and her mind loops in the past.

Of that small hand reaching for her. Reaching, and reaching, and reaching… A girl she tried to shield, save. Lifeless on the floor. In her lap. On a bed. Shot forever echoing in her ears.

May blinks hard, shaking her head. Fog settling, digging it's claws in. No, no, no, no, no… This isn’t happening. Not again. She is detrimental to those around her. A malignancy. She’s supposed to protect. It’s what she’s good at. It’s her job, her purpose on this team; she is meant to protect. Keep them safe, keep her safe and whole. Not let her wander alone down darker paths. Skye isn’t supposed to be consumed by the darkness, not like this, not like her. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Kneeling on the bed, heart in her throat, her hands hesitate over Skye, unsure where or whether to touch. Everything she touches is left ruined, bruised and broken. It isn’t supposed to be like this. Just once she wants to save the girl. This girl. Keep her from harm. But she never will, never can; she’s always three steps behind.

Eyes searching blindly for blood, a wound, a way to fix this mess, they flutter past the gun—her gun—and she sags, deflates before she even registers what she sees. Icer. Oh, thank god.

Just an Icer.

Not dead.

Skye’s not dead. _Thank god, thank god, thank god…_

Lungs back in her chest, she nearly laughs in relief. Almost. Brushing Skye’s hair back again, she stares for a long time. They are going to have the longest discussion about this. This isn’t how she's trained to handle stressful situations. And the realization that she’s too close is cold and gray. With anyone else, anyone, she would've known it was an Icer, would have remembered. She’s compromised. Too entangled. Too familiar. She has to separate if she can. But even saying it to herself sounds like a losing battle.

Hearing Sif step closer, May hunches further over Skye’s prone form, but the move is for nothing as the Asgardian merely stands, watching.

“She harmed herself, though she knew it meant giving up her freedom. All to save the rest of you.”

“She did it,” May says, peering over her shoulder. “Because she knew we’d have her back. She isn’t going anywhere.”

Reluctance rolls off Sif, a thick guilt. And that prickle sharpens into a sting that sends her skin crawling. This isn't a fight she can win, another innocent she can’t save. There’s no counter or protection that will be enough. And this will truly end just like it had before. With her losing the girl.

“I’m sorry it must be this way.”

* * *

Coulson emerges through the doorway with a bang, mere minutes after being left behind. But even finding them doesn't ease him any, rather the tail end of their conversation sends his heart rate rocketing. The mixture of their tones grating in his ears. Sif’s remorsefulness foaming in his gut, up his throat.

What to do? What to do?

Looking around, he'll take anything that’ll give him an advantage, might help create a diversion. He can’t, and never will be able to fight off an Asgardian, past experience has taught him that well enough, but distractions are right in his wheelhouse. Generally. 

Sif’s posture changes, subtle but so loud it screams at him, and he’s glued despite the urgency. It doesn’t matter what he wants. That he wants to be down there, to warn May, to stop this from happening to begin with. What he wants is irrelevant. As it frequently is. This can only end in disaster, and his damn feet are stuck, rooted, stomach full of stone.

If only Skye’d told him from the get-go, hadn’t lied about the temple. He’s seen Asgardians fight, up close and personal, far too many times to even hope for the best. And even though he knows Sif, she’s there on a job, to contain a threat. And he knows May can hold her own, but for everything she is, she’s still only human. What is that compared to a god?

He wants to call out—throat tight, stomach dropping further—wants to talk Sif down, alert May to the incoming onslaught, but doesn’t, can’t, is paralyzed by the fear that wraps around him. And if he knows her like he thinks he does, she won’t move anyway.

Sif’s attack meets with a force that sweeps Melinda off the bed, into the adjacent wall.  
Heart in his throat, and bile on his tongue, he’s petrified, that this is it. That this is where he’ll lose them both in one fell swoop. He isn’t ready. Never will be.

May struggles to keep her eyes open for a moment as she fights to get up, to start—continue defending her vulnerable ward. And he could watch forever, trapped in a tortuous loop, where he’ll always be so close but never quite enough to save them. But Sif sways, and his attention is ripped down the middle.

Sif hunches, arm wrapped protectively around her middle, as she pants. May sinks against the wall, giving up altogether, and he’s down the stairs, beside her before he knows he’s moved.

Ignoring Sif, he spares a glance at Skye, then drops to his knees, hands hovering. Before he can do much, May startles in front of him, alert again, and trying to get back up.

“Hey, knock it off.” She swats at his hands as he manages to keep her down, tuck the flying limbs away, aware of Sif sinking fully behind him. At least she isn’t trying for Skye again.

"What just happened?" None of what he witnessed makes sense in his brain yet. 

“The temple.”

“The temple?” That isn't the answer he's looking for, thinks she may have hit her head harder than he thought. He gets it, more happened down there than he'd been told, Raina's change not the only one. Skye—shit, he should have seen it. This. It's been staring him in the face the whole time. He knows she was in the temple, she witnessed Skye change, helped hide it. And Skye threw the scent. With a clearer mind, he might have put two and two together, figured out the game they were playing.

“We—I—” The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, bordering on suffocating. Near overwhelming as she tries to shift further back, distance from him. “I changed.”

Oh.

It doesn't process, nags at the back of his mind but doesn't move forward, as he sends out orders, calling on Jemma again. “Simmons, get down to Vault D. You’re gonna need a gurney." Then glances at a buckled Sif. "Or two.”

_Oh._

Suddenly it's there, clear and crystal, edges sharp and cutting. Transformed. Changed. Different. Not what she'd been.

May slowly shakes her head, hands flat against the floor. “M’fine.”

“Bullshit." That's a discussion for another time, another place, when he can straighten it out in his head. "Make it snappy, Simmons. You, stop trying to get up.” He keeps her down again, and she smacks at his hands again, the downward pressure searing. Letting up, she releases a groan as she fixes the way she's sitting. A sigh of air he thinks carries a faint 'thank you,' but can't be sure.

Just as quick as she settles, she's struggling again, nails digging into the meat of his arm. Fear relapsing.

"Skye. Where's Skye?"

Looking over his shoulder, everyone is right where they'd been. But turning back, he finds he's blocking her view. She can't see Sif or Skye or much of anything but him.

"She's still on the bed. Don't worry, she's here." Time for a second realization. "What happened?"

Her grip tightens, eyes unfocused, unseeing for only a moment before finding her way back. "She shot herself." It's said between grunts as she tries to pull away again, an excruciating pain stabbing through her side and back with each movement, breath, but needs to see with her own eyes.

The statement hangs in the air, heavy. Everything in this moment is heavy, what's been said, what hasn't, his mind racing with it. Her resistance not helping one bit. 

There'll be time to unpack the madness later. Simmons is coming down the stairs, her team behind her. Whatever she says bypasses him, but May mutters protests, claims she's fine once more.

"I can walk."

The bullshittery never stops. May can usually be compromised with though. He just has to give her the right incentive.

"You can ride on the gurney or I can carry you through the base."

* * *

With the Kree contained, and out of his hair, Coulson makes his way to the infirmary. The place he actually needs to be. Should have been the entire time. “Simmons, update.”

She bounces somewhat excitedly. At least more excited than with Raina or Skye. “The bruising is identical on both of them. It is astounding really.”

He nods, crossing his arms, mind glossing over all the facts. “How’d it happen?”

“I have no idea.” She smiles, turning back to her work.

That isn’t helpful in the slightest. He leans against the glass panel separating them, doesn’t think, can’t recall a time, he’s ever been that scared in his life. His heart squeezed in his throat. Death hadn't frightened him this much.

It’s a lie through and through though. He does know. Can pinpoint the exact moment when the world flipped on its axis. Once. Twice. He’s been that scared twice, watching Skye bleed out in that cellar, and at that warehouse, not knowing. But this is…different. She is different again. Clearing his throat, he has a hard time dragging his eyes away. “How’s she doing?”

Jemma looks up, eyes wide. “Considering the hit she took, relatively well. Though I’m sure Sif restrained herself or it could have been much worse.”

Skye kicks her feet out, sitting on the counter. “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue.’”

Simmons raises an eyebrow, her smile tightening at the corners. Unamused. “Except, in this case, the rubber is also bruised.”

Skye frowns at the sharpness in her tone. And despite the awkwardness that’s passing between them, she feels better than she has in days. There’s no way to know how long it’ll last, but for now it’s enough for her. Coulson’s gaze hops between them before returning to Simmons. If he sees or senses anything off between them, he doesn’t mention it.

“How bad?”

“There’s significant bruising along her ribs and mid back, along with a very minor concussion. She was awake, as you know, but very agitated, and would not stay put. She is refusing pain mediation, and as per her…request," she paused over the word, wanting the interaction to sound more pleasant than it was as that was the furthest thing from a request she's ever heard. "I refrained, but did give her something to help her sleep. Given her injuries, I would advise a couple of days rest, and then a light workload for the foreseeable future.”

* * *

Knocking on the edge of the doorway, Skye waits for some kind of sign, acknowledgment. She knows May’s awake, had seen her trying to shift around earlier before giving up, then closing her eyes in defeat. She’s been like that ever since. Short, shallow breaths interspersed with long, deep ones the only real indication of…wakefulness, anything.

Rubbing her hands together, she tries to work some blood back into her fingers. They’re cold, clammy, have been since she made up her mind. To talk this out. Put everything on the table, in the open. Or as open as May will allow them to get, she isn’t being picky at this point.

The acknowledgment she’s seeking comes in the form of dark eyes quietly watching her. And when she's finally paying attention again, she let’s herself in rather than wait for verbal invitation. If she did that, she’d be waiting out there forever. Then May blinks, trying to readjust herself once more. Uncomfortable and bullheaded.

Sitting on the end of the bed, her palms are sweaty. Skye doesn’t have a real reason to be nervous when speaking with her anymore, they understand each other much better now, but she still feels the occasional twinge of trepidation. Just once—this once—she wishes May would say something first, so she has time to work the lump from her throat, but that isn’t going to happen. In her experience, May doesn’t start conversations, she ends them. And it isn't hers to begin anyway.

But, surprisingly, she does.

“How are you?”

How was she? How _is_ she? It’s hard to say. She feels better now that it’s all out and in the open. That she’s not facing this alone. But there’s still a knot in her gut that she dragged them all into this to begin with, from the way Jemma looks at her, how even now she fears the consequences.

But that feels like too much for this moment, there’s a reason she’s here, and it isn’t to talk about her feelings. “Oh, you know, headache.” Clearing her throat, Skye digs right in. “What did you mean you knew?” It isn't for this either, but she has to work her way to it.

May blinks again, shifting her sights back. Sighing, she shrugs only her uninjured side. She’s prepared for this, knew it was always going to come up once Skye worked up the courage. She has some answers. Hopefully, they are ones to the questions Skye has because beyond the few she's deduced, she’s just as lost. “Four of us went in, Skye. Three came out. What were the chances I was unchanged while the other two weren’t?”

“Slim, I guess.” She frowns, the thought never even crossing her mind. Had she thought May had powers or just that she somehow managed to survive the event. “How did you know it was me? Why didn’t you say anything, even after I told Coulson. We didn’t have to do this on our own.”

“It wouldn't have helped, you would’ve denied it. You had to be ready, and you weren’t.”

She could reluctantly admit how that makes sense, but she doesn't. “That doesn’t explain how you knew it was me.”

“It wasn’t me. Raina's gone.”

Skye rolls her eyes at the simple reasoning. “I think you still should have said something.”

“That works both ways.”

“No, I know. I just— You’re my SO now, have been for months. I just…I just thought we were pass this weird...thing. That we could talk to each other. That we trusted each other.”

“You can tell me anything, Skye. I’m here to help you.”

Skye drops her head back with a groan, not sure if she's purposefully being dense or not. “That’s not what I mean.” She turns on the bed, tucking one leg under herself. “I mean, like, an exchange of information. I tell you things because you’re insightful, and you tell me things because—I don’t know, because you can.”

May hums. Opening her mouth, she wavers. “I—” She doesn't know what to say. Skye is right, she should have said something to a lot of people, should've been quarantined in a cell beside her. If she'd done things differently, they might not be where they are now. But any kind of admittance will just dig her in further, and she's already in too deep. She'll stick to facts, nothing personal. Any heart-to-hearts are meant for someone else. “I don’t remember much of what happened in the temple. I just— You were stone, then Trip… Then there’s nothing.”

-_-_-

Coulson stops beside Sif, arms crossed. There has to be something he can say, can do to convince her to leave them be because if she wants to — thinks she has to, she can and will take them without much fuss. He won’t split up his family because of this.

They stand in silence watching Skye speak. Her words don’t reach them, but he can imagine what's passing between the two, neither are great at pulling their punches. But there’s a pause. And whatever May says causes Skye to look down at her hands, nodding. She scoots further back onto the bed, feet dangling again.

“I do not like this.”

Sif side-eyes him, but there’s not much he can do about it. He doesn't necessarily like it either. “I know.”

“Three transformations, one still uncounted for.”

“We’ll find her.”

“What then?”

“I’m not sure.” Coulson shrugs. “We know next to nothing about her changes, only that she has.”

“And these two?” Sif nods back toward the glass, and Coulson follows.

“They’ll be safe here. Skye wants to get better, you can see that, can’t you?” He pauses for a brief moment, glancing to her and back. “But if you take her away from the people she loves, she’ll only get worse.”

“There is no getting better. She may wish it, but it will never happen. It is not safe for any of you with them.”

“We’re willing to take that chance.”

“You’re putting more than yourselves at risk.”

He nods, gaze still glued on the two women just beyond his reach. “I know, but she’ll get it under control. They both will.”

-_-_-

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Skye stops kicking her feet. May's been quiet, eyes closed, for hours it feels like. She doesn’t really know, there’s no clock, and she can’t bring herself to pull her phone out to check. But it’s been long enough that Coulson and Sif have finally stopped staring, and left. Off to decide their fate, she guesses. She just assumed May had fallen asleep after that quiet confession, the aftermath, after Skye threw out as many questions as she could think of and she struggled through her answers, in the silence that followed after. And the only reason she’s even still there is because May’s hurt, and shouldn’t be alone. So if Coulson isn’t going to take watch than she will. Nothing more than that. Not because when the Icer wore off, she'd woken to the exact thing she'd been trying to prevent. Not because she feels guilty. There's none of that, she's sure.

“Done what?”

May shuffles around, putting her hands flat on the mattress to push herself up again, but stops, eyes closing again as she tensely puts herself back as she was.

Feet on the ground, Skye readies herself in case she needs to find Simmons. Not that Jemma seems like she wants to see her, even for that. She’d been a little terse their last meeting. “I can get Simmons. She’ll set you up with the good stuff.”

“Don’t want it,” May huffs, tried eyes reopening. “You shouldn’t have—” She pauses, blinking, thought trailing a thousand different directions. There are so many ways to go about this conversation, hundreds of ways to get her point across. But for now, she’ll just aim for the easiest. “You shouldn’t have taken my Icer.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Skye throws her hands out then let's them drop to the bed. She picks at the blanket, exasperated at being scolded like a child. She knew what she was doing. No one else had to like the decision she made, they just had to live with it. “Sif was going to get in, and I couldn’t make it stop.”

“Sif was always going to get in. You were supposed to control your emotions like we practiced.”

Her tone is harsh, and Skye scoffs, bites back where she can. “What I was supposed to do, and what I could do are two different things. I’m sorry not all of us have such tight reins.”

May allows her eyes to slip shut again, those last moments washing over her. The fear there. Pins and needles ache along her skin again remembering, and she inhales, a slow, steadying breath. “I thought—” That Skye’d died, that she’d failed again… If she thinks about it too long the list will be endless, and she’ll be lost forever. Clearing her throat, she comes back to the present. “Never mind what I thought. We’ll work on it.”

Rolling her eyes upward, Skye shakes her head a little, enough to clear her sight. She didn't think it'd come to tears, but everything's been bound so tightly the last several days. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I—uh, I shouldn’t have done what I did, but my options were limited. I’m sorry that—if I scared you. And I’m sorry I told Coulson. I shouldn’t have done that either. It’s just, he heard enough, and I had to give him something.”

“It’s fine.” Her voice is soft, softer than Skye’s ever heard it, and she wants to say something else, make sure May understands she is truly apologetic, but doesn’t.

Shifting for real this time, May hisses as she angles herself away from Skye, curling further into the thin blankets.

A hand unexpectedly lands on Skye’s shoulder surprising her, she hadn’t heard anyone come in, but looking back it’s only Coulson, jacket in hand, sleeves rolled up. Finally. How much had he heard this time?

“Why don’t you take a break? I’ve got this.”

She nods, hopping off the bed, and reaches for the door before turning back. Coulson's already pulled a chair close; May’s arm is laid out across the empty expanse of bed.

"It's safe to go out there, right?" She gives off a nervous laugh, tries to play it off a shrug and a smile.

"There's no reason to worry. You're free to go about your normal daily activities, no one will bother you."

She takes it to mean they're staying, here, home. But Jemma's earlier expression flashes through her mind, maybe no one, not even her friends, will bother her. Stepping through the doorway, she fiddles with the handle, lost in thought as the room beyond continues without her. 

“If you could hold the lecture, I had enough of the first one.”

Shaking out his jacket, he hangs it on the back of his seat and sits. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

May hums, flexing her fingers into a stretch before letting them curl back. “Stay, please.”

Coulson wraps his hand around hers, places his elbows on the bed, ad leans in. “You got it.”

At the contact, May delicately rearranges to fully face him.

Quietly shutting the door the rest of the way, Skye wanders off, a small grin in place. At least something's ending on a happy note, she can take solace in that. 

"She's a nosy one," May murmurs, just beginning to doze.

"That's how we found her."

"Are you done being mad at me?"

The question comes minutes later, an hour?, after he's sure she's out for the night. When his eyelids are heavy, and he's close to dropping off himself.

Her fingers tighten for a second as he hesitates, brain waking to sort the answer. Is he still upset? It feels like…no? Frightened, yes, angry, no. But maybe it’s just being smothered by persistent worry. Though even if it is, he has a choice to make. He can let it go or let it burn a hole through them. And it’d be such a waste, years gone, if he let it.

So, he nods his head though she won’t see having drifted again, and squeezes back. “Yeah, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one said it was a good power or that i'd thought this all through.


	4. Chapter 4

Stepping out of the vehicle, Coulson doesn't think it's the best idea to have May escort the Kree considering, but he's been extremely docile since losing his memory, and Sif assures him she won't be in any danger. And she'd refused to stay behind, stand aside, so he leaves her to gather the confused alien.

Sif speaks as soon as he nears her, only sending him glances in between staring out into the empty field. “I know you think I overreacted. But this decision…leaving them with you… It carries real danger. I want you to understand that.”

“I do, but we’ll help them through it.” It's all the reassurance he can offer before they come around the side of the SUV, Vin-Tak asking if they've arrived.

Coulson turns his attention to the man that forced all their hands. He's grateful in a way, Skye would've continued to let them think the big one was coming, and they'd be none the wiser to what May's powers were. If they even are now. “No, this is not your home planet. Lady Sif will take you from here.”

“I apologize for my forgetfulness. You have been very kind.” He holds his hand out to shake, but stops, confusion curling his brow, and raises his hand in front of his face. “Why is my hand not blue?”

Slightly leaning in, Coulson lowers his voice to sell a story they fed him. “You are in disguise from the people pursing you. Remember?”

“Right. I will keep watch.”

Sif takes control of the conversation once they’re mostly alone again. “I’ll return him to his home planet, Hala. He’ll remember none of this. No more trouble should come from there. But here…” 

The worry is evident in her tone, his confidence they can handle whatever is thrown at them from these revelations has done nothing to sooth her trepidation. “Yes. There are other Diviners, but we flooded the city so no one can activate them. We’ll take every precaution.”

There's a long pause, weighed down by her concern, doubt. “Coulson, your people make decisions based on logic.”

“Usually.”

“Usually. As do mine.”

He looks to May, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a poorly concealed smile as his gaze flicks back. “Leaving them with us is the logical choice, I promise.”

“No. No, this is not what I mean. Asgard is millennia beyond you in our pursuit of science, of knowledge, and we have learned there are some things that can never be understood.”

“Is this little talk one of them?”

“I know you wish to affect the outcome, but it may be…it may be beyond that.”

“Are you talking about fate?”

“I am saying there are tides in the universe that you cannot swim against. Best of luck, Son of Coul.”

“Thank you.” It's the last thing he can offer because he is full to the brim with graduate. The nightmare this could’ve been doesn't bare thinking about.

May steps closer as Sif takes her place beside the Kree. All of them staring as the sky swirls, opening to the Bifrost. It's a sight his seen multiple times, and yet it never gets less awe-inspiring to witness.

“Not a lot of laughs, that one. And when I say that about somebody—”

Coulson crosses his arms, already sensing. “You agree with her. You think this is more than we can handle.”

Yes, she does. They understand so little about any of this. Skye shakes things, and she does whatever it is she does. But she’s seen what happens when powered people go bad up close and personal, and the things that have to be done to stop them are enough to shatter anybody. “Look, most of the time, I believe what I see. You know that, but…”

“But?”

“You died. You were brought back…with a map to a city encoded in you DNA. Our team’s first mission?”

“We picked Skye up. 

“And last week we took her to that city. I can’t help but remember what Lumley said. Wherever Skye goes…” It felt like a warning then, feels like one now. A hint that none of this can—will end well for them. Like they are destined to lose. Themselves. Each other. 

Everything she's built, fought to reclaim, on the brink.

“Death follows.” He nods again, it feels like there’s more to it than Skye this and Skye that, but he’s pushed enough for the last several days. It can wait for when she’s ready. “That’s for another day though. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How’re you holding up?”

She shrugs, her good side raising and falling in fractions of an inch. “Sore mostly,” she answers, untruthfully, starting back to the car.

He knows this tactic though, if he can’t see, he won’t know. Her tone is even unconvincing as he follows her to the passenger side, despite the glare, and holds the door open as she gingerly climbs in. “I think that might be an understatement,” he says, handing her the seat belt.

Taking it, her fingers brush over his as he pulls away. “We gonna have that talk now.”

For a long moment, he stares, calculating, hand primed to close the door as she buckles in, and leans back. “Yeah, let’s do that.” Shutting the door, he goes to the driver's side, and slides in. He twists in his seat, holding his hand out waiting for hers. An extension of that connection the night before. How willing they both are to being open. “And that’s not what I meant.”

She takes the offer, twining her fingers through his. If it helps him feel better after everything, she'll cave for now. “I know.” He wants the emotional, not the physical. But he can't know what she doesn't.

Deep breath, he shakes his head, trying to pinpoint where to begin. Then just starts, spilling the first thought that finds him because there is no suitable place. “When I heard you were in there, when Skye said you were in the mist…”

There's a beat. A silence that lasts longer than it should, but it's stuck in his throat, and she prompts him. “What?”

“I couldn’t breathe.”

“That's a bit melodramatic even for you.” A playful eye roll accompanies the jab.

The smile is a nice touch, but he needs her to understand he means what he said, the alarm that shot through him. A gripping, futile fear. “I’m serious, Melinda." One hundred percent. Hell, a hundred and ten.

But she doesn't doubt the gravity behind his words, just the severity in his tone. "Phil…"

"You were down there. Trip was dead. Raina changed. Skye was traumatized. I didn’t…” He pauses. There is so much to say, and this space isn't big enough to fit all of it. “Did you know what would happen with Sif?”

Her mouth opens then closes. Did she know? No, not exactly. There were hints here and there, training with Skye, that prickling in the vault. But those gave no inkling of what would actually happen when it finally showed itself. “No. I—I didn’t know what happened down there, only that something did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we weren’t keeping secrets.”

She knows, better than most, he doesn't react well to secrets kept. Especially when just a year ago he'd threatened to shoot her then essentially told her to leave. She tilts her head in reply, and it’s all he really needs to hear.

“That was a sucker-punch. This is not the same as that.” His grip relaxes, fingers stretching before constricting around her hand once more. “And if I’d known, if either of you had bothered to tell me the complete truth, I would have made sure you were never in that position in the first place. But because neither of you spoke up, you put yourselves in danger.”

“I’m fine, Phil. We both are. Stop with the dramatics.”

“That's bullshit, but it’s not about you being fine…” He halts, thinking for a moment then nods, shifting his shoulders. “All right, it’s a little about that. She could have killed you, Melinda.”

“But she didn’t.”

“We’re lucky Sif was even here. If it'd just been Vin-Tak— This could have been much worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nods, impressed he even wrangled that much out. Letting go of her, he straightens back out, and buckles, turning the ignition. The engine turns over, starting. “It’s all right. I forgive you.” He can’t be too angry in the end, he’s had days to think it over, and the more he thought, the more he saw she’d quarantined herself within the base. Limited her movements until Skye’s results were back. He gets she didn’t want to be trapped in a cage, knows it's a fear unless she willingly puts herself there. It doesn’t change what she did, but he understands where she was coming from.

They're barely a couple minutes into the drive back as she struggles to stay awake. The fight is short lived, by the next intersection she's out. The faint snores are endearing though she'll deny them later.

His gaze drifts towards her, when there's a moment to spare. It still feels like a gut punch, like he can't take a full breath. A shoe above him waiting to fall. He could've lost her. His brain loops the phrase. Lost her, lost her, lost her... It so easily could've ended with him, here, alone, and her, crumbled stone, dust, consumed by the sea with the temple. Like Trip. Hands tightening around the wheel, his heart thunders louder with the passing seconds, ears ringing endlessly until he starts, jolted, the car behind him honking.

First, he checks she's undisturbed. Then, slowly letting off the brake, he tentatively presses on the gas. This is not the best place to be having these thoughts, to sort the last few days. But even with her beside him, safe and sound, his nerves are fraying. Cause he's lived without her before, and prefers no encore. This could push her over the edge all the same.

He'd have no choice but to let her go. Anything to give her some kind of peace. And he'd hate it, that distance she'd force between them, but if it helped, he'd endure. He had before. It sends his pulse skyrocketing again as he pulls in, stops the car, kills the engine. 

He should just leave it, get her inside, and ignore the anxiety coiling in every limb. Her hand's still limp on the middle console, and part of him wants to reach out and check, double-check, she's even there. He can see her, but he's seen things before. It's an invasion of her personal space, he knows, she's very particular about who and how and when, but... Never mind, seeing is enough, he'll let it be enough. His unease doesn't overrule her autonomy. Besides, her face is still, serene, a look he hasn't seen on her in quite some time, and if he can give her just a few more moments of that...

So deep in his head, he misses the movement around him. The sensation of physical contact, a hand clasping his own, squeezing tight enough he's brought back. She's staring at him with eyes that see more than he likes.

"I am okay, Phil. I'm not going anywhere."

The relief is instant and staggering as he smiles. "Never doubted for a second."

"Uh-huh."

Then she just sits, his hand wrapped in hers. After several minutes, she's made no attempt to disentangle, go inside. In fact, she's sunk further into her seat, tired eyes hooded. Taking it upon himself, he slips his hand from her, and gets out. Trekking around the car, by the time he opens her door, her eyes are shut all the way again. 

Nudging her shoulder, she doesn't respond, only rocks in her seat. Another nudge. And another, and she's glaring up at him.

"Stop shaking me."

"I can carry you if you like."

"No."

"Can't risk that reputation." It's all in good fun, but her mood's soured in such a short time.

Somewhere along the walk, she's manages to put a foot between them. Coulson doesn't let it get further than that, her movements stiff and awkward.

"Where are we going?"

"Thought you'd want to see Simmons first." Ah, if looks could kill... He knows better, and redirects her at the next hall. "Bed, it is then. Well, for you at least, some of us have work to do."

Passing Skye, he can feel her eyes on them, and can only hope she's continued on by the time he re-emerges. Though her being curious isn't the worst thing to happen to any of them recently. And it's a good thing he doesn't mind too much because once he steps out May's door, she's there. Standing right where he'd passed her.

Approaching, he might as well get this over with. 

"What's this?" Skye asks, a smile slowly building the longer she stares wide-eyed.

"What was what?"

She gestures between him and the door in the distance.

"That's a rough night. And overdoing it." The grin is full-blown, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Something he hasn't seen since Trip. "What?"

"Nothing. I just thought no one was allowed in there. I've never even seen a peek inside." She watches him in an appraising manner. He doesn't like it. Then she shrugs. "She trusts you. It's cute."

"Yeah, well, don't let her hear about it." He finally takes in what she's carrying. A box, filled with her things. "Where are you going?"

Skye looks at the stuff in her hands, essentially everything she owns, then back at Coulson, mouth opening and closing for a second, all hints of amusement gone. "I think it'd be better for everyone if I stayed on the Bus."

"You don't have to do that, Skye."

She shrugs. "I know, but I don't mind."

She's gone in a blink, and he could follow, sort this here and now, but he's tired also. And Skye spending one night on the Bus won't hurt anything. They could all use some rest before coming back together, looking things over with fresh eyes.

* * *

Fitz wanders into the ruined commons, the devastation Skye hadn’t meant to cause. His hands find his hips as he looks around, shattered glass and broken fixtures from the ensuing fight. This is what they’d been trying to avoid.

Jemma passes through his gaze, his thoughts, a full dustpan in hand. She heads for the trash, expression inflexible. And this. This reaction, revulsion. He feels bad staying quiet, but this—this, with enough time, caution, this could’ve been prevented.

The glass pieces hit the bottom of the bin in a thunderous cascade, louder than should be possible, and he flinches at the sudden sound, the cold shoulder as she passes back by.

“Jemma…um…I know you feel that I could have been, uh…a bit more forthright…”

She chuckles wistfully, standing at her full height, task discarded as she drops the dustpan on a side table, and faces him. “Forthright. Fitz, as understatements go, I think that qualifies as an instant classic. You lied to me.”

Okay, he had, but she's not innocent in the lie department. “So now we’re even. Can you blame me, the way you were going on about Raina. That she’s a-a-a plague to be eradicated. I…”

She scoffs, indignant at the recap of earlier conversations taken completely out of context. Raina is not the same as Skye, she's caused them nothing but trouble since the beginning of this team. “Skye is my friend! She’s different.”

“Oh, yeah?" His brows raise into his hairline, then all the frustration and hurt falls from him. "Like I was your friend, and then I changed. How did you handle that?”

Narrowed eyes, Jemma leans back from where he's invaded her space, but doesn't give an inch further. But the bitterness there is distressing. She knows she injured him by leaving, and being back has been awkward, but that has nothing to do with this discussion, and can be sorted on their own time.

Seems Mack has the same idea as he interrupts. “The point is, secrets don’t help any of us. Skye should have just come clean.”

“What, and risk being locked up, and studied, or who knows what else? No. No, I wouldn’t let her.”

Though she’s hurt him, annoyance over takes her. He’s willfully misunderstanding their apprehension, and as if he has a say in what Skye does. So, she taunts back, “Oh, you wouldn’t let her.”

Before the childishness can escalate further, Mack interferes again. “We could have handled her in a way that would have kept everyone safe.”

“Nobody was hurt.”

“May was hurt. Skye shot herself. How many more injuries did you want?” Jemma stresses.

“It wasn’t fair to us, Fitz. We had a right to know.”

His gaze snaps past Jemma, fixing on Bobbi. He’d forgotten there was company. “A right to know? What… Is that the same way that Sif and the Kree had a right to know?”

“I think the situation’s a little bit different, mate.”

And there's Hunter. All of them thinking they’re entitled to the personal details of Skye’s life whether or not she wants them to know. Like they are any better than the aliens wanting to take her. “No, you would have done to her exactly what they wanted too.”

“You don’t know that!” Jemma argues, voice high, defensive. 

“Yes, I do know that! They would…you would…you’d ‘handle’ her! Mack just said it! Like, uh…like Skye’s something to be locked away in a cage somewhere. We should be protecting her.”

Then it’s Mack’s turn to shout. “No, Fitz! We’re the ones that need protection from her.”

And there it is. The truth of it.

Eyes are plucked from him, one by one, their weight lifting like a physical force. The strain in his chest releases with their attentions elsewhere. Fear breeds contempt, and sometimes even friends turn on the ones closest to them. With a change of that degree, it’s understandable that Skye’d be reluctant to share.

The silence that follows is harsh, leaving his ears ringing. Realizing then, focus is locked behind him, and he knows who it is. What's she's heard. 

Turning, her eyes are wide, breaths quick as she stares, a deer in the headlights.

“Skye.”

There’s a moment of hope, he thinks she’ll stay, but she bolts.

“S-Skye. Wait!” He reaches out, but doesn’t take a step for her as she flees. He can still see her there, shape burned into the empty space. Head down, hands on hips, he turns back to them. “No one has a problem with May, who just also happens to be powered! You were practically bouncing off the walls when you found out about her, but Skye, your ‘friend,’ you’re scared of her. I can see it, a-a-and if I can, so can she.”

“It’s not the same, Fitz." Jemma's voice is softer, guilt stooping her shoulder slightly. 

Not the same. Raina's not the same as Skye, and Skye's not the same as May. Excuses. 

"We don’t know the full extent of May’s power, but she can’t bring this base down on top of us if she's scared.”

“How is that any different? From what I’ve seen, you probably can’t stop her unless you’re willing to go down with her.”

"It’s just not the same.” Jemma rubs at her forehead.

"It’s exactly the same. This is why we didn’t tell you.”

* * *

"How are you this morning?" Smiling as May enters, sits, Coulson sets his work aside. It's much later than 5, but he's fairly certain she's only recently gotten up.

Her grimace widens, fidgeting intensifying.

“That good, huh?"

"You didn't need to tuck in me last night."

His grin grows. "Oh, well, I didn't physically tuck you in, but I did need to. You'd still be the car otherwise."

She snorts, a sly smirk sneaking out. His mood titters and falls from there, and May braces for what's coming.

"Skye’s moved herself into the Cage last night. I want you to retrieve her, and get her situated somewhere near you.”

She understands the move, he thinks she can help somehow, but...but that isn't everything, and May stares, waiting for him to continue with whatever it is he’s wrestling to get out.

“I have to register you on the Index.”

Ah, of course. “Phil—”

“Standard procedure, you know that.”

“It doesn’t have to be like before. We don’t have to do it this way.”

“The Index is there for everyone’s protection.”

“Don’t do the spiel with me. It’s for the public, not the individual.”

“If they’re on the list, they’re dangerous to themselves and or others, Melinda. It’s there for their protection as well as the publics. You know this. If they can’t be controlled than they need to be contained—”

“Put down, you mean.”

He hesitates for only a moment, both well aware containment isn’t always an option. "Not necessarily, but yes, that's what I mean. You've never had a problem with it before.”

"I agree with aspects of the process. But Shield’s not the shining beacon of light you like to see is as, Phil. It has it’s faults. How it handles powered individuals is one. They're civilians, not trained agents. There's no leeway for error. There are better ways to do this, and you know it."

"And one day we'll figure out what that way is, but for now it's the Index. It's better to have a list. To know where they're at, what they can do before more serious measures have to be taken."

“What about me?”

“I didn’t mean you or Skye, you know that. You’re just trying to pick a fight, and I don’t know why. You knew this would happen, and that those people are volatile. They’re dangerous. They aren’t like you.”

“I’m considered plenty dangerous, even before this, Phil. But I wasn’t on a list to be crossed off for the safety of others should I lose control, and now—” She sighs heavily, shoulders dropping, frown tagging at the corners of her mouth. She's been thinking, and from what she's seen, experienced— “Now, I don’t think you can stop me… Not without putting yourself or another agent in harms way.”

“Mel—”

“It doesn’t have to be like it was. You can change this. You can be better, do better than Fury.”

He wants that, to build off what Fury's done, make things better, help. But what's she's asking is a monumental task, one he can't afford to start at the moment. “There’s too much upheaval right now. As soon as it calms down, we’ll revamp, but until then—”

“Would you put me down?”

She says it so calmly, it doesn't comprehend. “What?”

“If there’s no other way, would you do it?”

He isn’t sure when exactly she turned this conversation into an interrogation, into this aimless line of questioning of whether he would or wouldn't. But that's not entirely true. He knows exactly when. The first words out of his mouth set this train rolling. What he actually doesn’t know is how he’s supposed to answer. She’s his best friend. She means a… “You’re not like them, I wouldn’t need— You’d never be like—”

“I am one of them, you just said so. You can’t have it both ways. Will you?" Her stare is intense, frantic almost; dark eyes smoldering. "Can you?”

There's a desperation, a wild feeling tampered by stoicism. He doesn't like it. “Melinda, it isn’t like that. This is just to keep track. You’re being ridic—”

In a sudden burst, she's on her feet, half leaning over his desk. Injury all but forgotten as she tries the provoke a reaction. The response she wants. The only answer that's acceptable. “Lives are at sake, Phil. Your people. Your team. And your justifications won’t save them. Could you do it?”

Without a real, tangible thought, he knows what he'd do. The answer to an impossible question. If it was between her and everyone, he’d do it. He’d do it because she’d hate him if he didn’t.

"I need to know."

It's a push to far, a soft plea, pressing and vital, and the answer erupts from him, “Yes!” His hands hit the desk top, like hers had, the vibrations jangling up his bone. Still, he hears it, more than feels it, his voice shaking over the bang. And it carries. He’s sure the whole base has heard their escalating confrontation. Shoulders curling, he embraces defeat in a battle he hadn't meant to start. He doesn’t want to think that it could, may, come to that some day. Any day. “I’d find a way, if I had to. But you aren’t—”

May pushes off his desk, supporting her own, and crosses her arms. He ignores the way she winces as she presses too hard against her side, too raw for anything added. “Good. Does she know she’s being added? About what—”

The answer feels like it lingers in the back of his throat, but it's out before she even finished her sentence. “She knows what she needs to know right now. Everything else can wait.”

“She’ll need someone to talk to.”

“You both will.”

He's prepared for this argument, for her refusal, but she continues on as if he hadn't spoken at all. “It’ll have to be someone we can trust.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make the arrangements.”

Then he let's her go. There are issues he needs to think about, consider, questions and answers that need brought to light. 

This is gonna be an adjustment for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to get a severe case of carpal tunnel.


End file.
